The Lord of the Rings RP [IC]

[Of planets]

Dead Marshes
As a group of spearmen joined the main rank the group of Rohirrm now numbered 60, the horn of Mordor was drawing more than just the foe's attention, it became a beacon for the great horseless horselords to come to. The 90 archers were now bombarding the orcs with every arrow available Eomer spied a fiery arrow shoot into the air, a request for reinforcements that Eomer knew would come too late even if the battle went either way. Eomer realized he was pressed quite harshly by a knot of lesser orcs, Eomer sliced stabbed wildly and two fell before his onslaught, the others backing away as Eomer retreated to his lines and returned to the beauty that was three ranks of spearmen against a frontal assault, but then flanks were hit

A volley of arrows struck the orcs as they struck the left flank however it did little change, bodies flew and the orcs hacked and slashed at the men of Rohan, Eomer slew one orc and saw several others be slain however he could tell it was a losing battle. As Eomer hacked down a second orc with his sword he grabbed a pole-pale of water and had his men retreat a few steps as he threw the pole-pale on the floor in front of the orcs' path, this was all the excuse needed for the bog to rise in that area. Mud caked the orcs and they began slipping and falling over. Eomer yelled in Rohirric "Men of Rohan, rereat and throw your water on the bog!" The Rohirrm did so and the goblins' path soon began weighing down all but the lightest, some of the armoured ones would even sink to the point of not getting back out. The archers now fired with impunity and the infantry regrouped a score of yards back, Eomer could hope he bought ten minutes to plant in stakes and gather more men, he had now almost 80 infantry and 100 archers to use, the plan was that with 800 men in reach, he had to get them all to this concentrated point and beat the enemy back. Another Fiery arrow soared above them as a rallying call to all other rohirrm.

ROHAN
83 infantry
100 archers
17 Dead
2 Incapacitated
2 wounded but able to continue.

[New Educandi]

A thought crossed Imrahil's mind, and without thinking he blurted it out to the little Hobbit. "Why don't you come with me? To Gondor I mean. It would give you something to write about, and maybe you could find someone who would buy your books down there?" Imrahil didn't know how the little Hobbit would react but Imrahil thought that the Hobbit would decline. Imrahil nervously awaited Boippi's response.

As he turned away, Boippi stoped in his tracks. Turning around in his tracks, he said;
"to GONDOR? You realize that I am hobbi-- Excuse me, but might you repeat that last bit?" he inquired. After Imrahil replied, he though it over. Sure, it was far, but he needed to sell his books, didn't he? His diet was rather expensive.
But GONDOR! By the valar, it is GONDOR! do you know how far that is?!? he thought to him self, then, after mulling it over for a minuet, said:
"Let us go then."

[Elerian]

Imrahil listened to the distraught little Hobbit. Imrhail had met many and more on his journeys to Bree, and it seemed many of them were pansies. Imrahil didn't mind however, he could use the company. Many of his own men, while nice company and fearsome fighters, were a sad lot. Their life was primarily focused on living in the North in isolation, waiting for a King of old come and restore the lost kingdom of Arnor. A wish that seemed fleeting every day they waited.

Imrahil thought it best not to dwell on that, so when the Hobbit said he would come, a big grin spread across his face. Imrahil replied while walking towards the gates, "then we'd best get a move on."

[New Educandi]

Imrahil listened to the distraught little Hobbit. Imrhail had met many and more on his journeys to Bree, and it seemed many of them were pansies. Imrahil didn't mind however, he could use the company. Many of his own men, while nice company and fearsome fighters, were a sad lot. Their life was primarily focused on living in the North in isolation, waiting for a King of old come and restore the lost kingdom of Arnor. A wish that seemed fleeting every day they waited.

Imrahil thought it best not to dwell on that, so when the Hobbit said he would come, a big grin spread across his face. Imrahil replied while walking towards the gates, "then we'd best get a move on."

"very well then," he said "I remember on- oh, what an idiot I am!" he exclaimed, running to the nearest stationary store that he could find. REturing, he sheepishly stated:
"my sincerest apologies: I had to run the the market to retrieve some paper and a pen-- I will get something out of this, at least. I'll make sure you will be in the book, too. I hope I have not slowed us down?"

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

'Men! Men! Come on, come on, mail has arrived! And I think I smell another scented hair!'

While normally, the men were slow and grumpy waking up, the call of arriving mail lightened their mood, and seem to work better than a battle horn ever could. One by one, the knights jumped up from their mats, which they had positioned around the ruins of the house they had been garrisoned in. One of the first to get up was Merry, a White Mountain farmboy who had left his home in search of himself. With every package of mail, there was a letter from his parents, written in broken Westeron in almost unreadable handwriting. Next to wake was Balín, who was one of the newest recruits, hailing from Minas Tirith itself. His rich father had sent him away to become a man, and Dolmor Broadsword made sure that wish was fulfilled. In his excitement, Balín nearly broke his neck while jumping down from the high and dry pile of large marble blocks he had placed his mat upon. After only a few minutes, a large file had formed, twenty-seven men long, excluding the mail carrier, Cirion and Dolmor from it, who both looked amused at these hardened veterans of war huddling together for words from their mothers and girlfriends.

One by one, the soldiers received their letters, and began reading them, some reading aloud to their comrades, and some helping other with reading. It was an admirable sight to behold, to see warriors in touch with who they once were. Dervorin, a man who took pleasure in decapitating Orcs, and kept Orc teeth in a pouch by his side, turned into the farmboy he had always been before signing up for the cavalry, just for a moment. This man, who had once spiked an Orc to a tree with relative ease, seemed only half the size he really was at that moment. The magic of the moment was only disturbed by Merry, the White Mountain native, viciously attacking the bag that had held the mail the regiment had received. He seemed frightened, afraid, as if something bad had happened. As if the fabled One Ring was held in the bag. Cirion noticed this, and a feeling of worry overcame him. He hadn't seen Merry get a letter, where he normally got at least one. Cirion stood up, and started walking towards his rider, holding up his hand as a sign of trust and friendship.

'Merry, what's the matter? Where is the letter your parents sent you?'

Merry, who had descended into an uncontrollable sobbing, replied in short terms, trying to hide his grief.

'It's not here.'

'What do you mean?' Cirion was confused with his statement. It could mean a lot of things.

'There is no letter from my parents here, Cirion. Nothing. Not a sign of life.'

'Oh, I'm sure...'

'There must be something wrong, Cirion. The mountains are dangerous. Did you hear Turgon's story yesterday? About those stone giants the size of mountains?'

'Merry, those stories... You know they are all make-beli-'

'No!' Merry was especially vicious in his reply, nothing Cirion had ever seen from his peace-loving farmer. Even in fighting his enemies, this boy had displayed great honour and virtues, which made this unkind response even more menacing. He continued, in a friendlier tone.

'I know there is something wrong. Ever since the army was assembled, the bandits in the mountains have grown bolder. While the Great Eye grows in strength, so do the Evil Men in the mountains... What if they attacked the village? I've read the reports from Rohan, barbarian people ravaging the country...'

'Merry, that is leagues away from where you hail from! This is wild speculation. Please, stay calm and... What are you doing?'

Merry got up from the ground, tossed the bag aside, and started gathering his belongings. He rolled up his mat, attached it to his backpack, and started putting on his armour and gear. It was obvious what he was going to do. Cirion, shaken by his actions, tried to remedy the situation, to no avail.

'Merry, please, going out now would mean desertion. They behead you for desertion, you know that. Why...'

'I know, Cirion, it will be my downfall. But I cannot do nothing. I should not have left in the first place, the mountain bandits are a dangerous people. I need to take care of my own, you must understand.'

Cirion stood there for a moment, watching his friend put on his gear step by step, taking his lance from the wall, starting to walk outside. He had to make a decision now, that much was clear. He could not just let this man leave, it would be a bad example for his tight-knit group. A breach in their morale if even Merry gave up hope, and hope was scarce in the ruins of Osgilliath. In seconds, he made a decision that changed the entire course of their personal war.

'Gentlemen, I have just decided that it is our duty to make sure the weak are defended from the wicked. I am a knight, and I can no longer watch these poor people wrecked by conflict. I hereby decide that the Silverlight Detachment is going to the White Mountains to help remedy the situation. Gear up, we leave in half an hour.'

And, indeed, within half an hour, a time made possible by Dolmor's incredible voice, a group of thirty knights in full armour rode out of the gates of Osgilliath, their banners waving happily in the wind, their armour shining heavenly in the morning sun, peaking just above the White City in front of them. Their course was clear and ahead of them, guided by Merry, who both knew the way, and seemed invigorated by the forces of Good and Evil combined. For these riders, the war of the Ring would not start at the gates of Mordor, battling Orcs, it would start in inner Gondor, doing what they thought to be their duty. It was a sign of what was yet to come.

[Palonitr and Howland]

Mirkwood
Durindon and the company had stumbled into a troll den like fools. They were lost and they fell down a cliff, relatively unharmed other than a furious Hwin whose ass got poked by a sword. Then they realized that they were in the den of a forest troll. Fortunately the trolls were asleep, well until one of the greener dwarf's in his company tripped and fell onto one of the three troll. The archers launched their crossbow bolts at them as the company roared and charged at the still half asleep trolls. Durin pulled away the green dwarf and threw him behind the company. The trolls were nkw enraged by the awkening of their sleep and were now attemptimg to stoml the dwarves. Durindon swung his warhammer to the knees of of them, breaking and making it fall down face forward. He proceeded to smash the the head of the troll until it was nothing more than a soup made of brain bits and blood. The other dwarves had managed to tie one down to the ground alive and Hwin shot one last bolt to the last troll, killing it. The last living one they interoggated and gathered that there was some loot inside further the den. Durin then swung one hard swing with his hammer and instantenously killed the troll.

They would stay in the den for the night as many of them were injured and exhausted. They had found a small amount of gold which they divided among themselves and several ancient weapons which they thought was valuable and they buddled up and took a long as their loot. Then, they sung their songs of old while drinking wine until all of them slept. Durin stayed up and took first watch. He told Hwin before he took watch, "On the morrow we march."

[Great Empire of Gamilus]

Ithilien

Teams of Rangers would watch the orcs leave, the savage beasts stupidity not noticing the 20 or so rangers around the giant stack of kindling and wood. Once they left the rangers snuck up to the piles and started to dismantle them, tearing them down and carting off larger pieces deeper into the woods in silence while wearing the biggest mocking grins ever.

this would be repeated for all the other fires found by the Rangers of Gondor, granted they might have missed two fires but those could be handled easily with the measures the rangers were taking to prevent forest fires.

Osgiliath

Ganthos poked the meat that was sitting over the fire, the Deer prepped by the cooks roasted splendidly, Harnth Daverus, a friend and good comrade of Ganthos' prepped some seasoning as night drew in, Harnth looked up at Ganthos, intending to make small talk.

"So do you hear, they might be sending our section out to help the rangers."

Ganthos raised an eyebrow.

"Really? well they would need all the help they can get, bloody Nazgul are leading them from what I hear."

"Damn those fiends of darkness, the Dark Lord's an honourless cur and his minions lacking before the mailed hand of Gondor!"

Laughing they both drank from their wine skins as the others from their platoon arrived, dinner being served soon after.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Shargaleb, Rhun-Variag Borderlands

The chief shook his head at the words of his king. "My lord, I crave your pardon, but it is not that simple; all smile and nod when I speak to them of war in the west, and service to Sauron. They are mouth-friends, aye, but through the washer women and watchers I have placed in many houses I hear other stories, stories of betrayal, stories of placidity. It is not an easy task to determine from where the rumors originate, but the method of turning mouth-friends in to friends in truth is upon us. The Bow-Time. If you were to triumph in the contests, well, all would see the power and might of their king, and through them the power and might of Mordor. Then I wager it would take little indeed for them to march west with us."

[Limborg]

Withered Heath
Dáin and his men had walked for two days after they killed that one dragon, however Dáins lust for Dragonblood had not been stilled yet. As they marched on they heard a shouting men from afar, it appeared to be a group of men, 20 men, rangers for Dale. Dáin had never thought to see them all the way up here. They told that they where sended by the King, as a sign of friendship. Dáin could use all the help he could get, dragons weren't easy to defeat.
Together they marched on, untill they took notice of another cave, smilular in size as the one of the previous dragon. Dáin went inside to check it out, he took only a few men with him. All the way back, in the depths, there where seven Dragons, young ones, probably hatched a few days ago. Dáin quickly called everybody inside, the mother could not be far. Dáin walked up to the little dragons, who weren't able to spit out fire yet. He almost felt sad for them, that they had to die becouse of what they would become in the future. In the end he kille dall seven of them, beheaded them to give them a quick death. In the meanwhile the others had set up positions. A large shieldwall in front with archers behind. spearmen on the side, hidden well from the view. The Rangers had gatherd with the archers. they stayed as far back as possible. The race of men could not whirstand the intense heat that came from dragonfire and the rangers where in no mood for getting killed. Dáin piled up the bodies of the young dragons, they would be taken to Erebor.
It seemed to take ages before the mother returned, but when the sun started to set the scout spotted the dragon. It was a clear wake up call for the men, who had almost dwelled to sleep. As the Dragon flew down and enterd the cave it inmediatly seemed to know what had happend. It was a large Dragon, even for the lesser Dragons. It had scales that covered half of a dwarves face. The Dragon moved slowly towards the large wall of shields, Dáin stood behind it, and when the Dragon had fully enterd the cave Dáin gave the signal. Archers shot their arrows at the Dragon, the men with spears on the side trhew them, all with no effect. The arrows did not penetrate through the scales, same happend with the spears. The spearmen, who had tied ropes to their spears, quickly retrieved them and jumped upon the dragon, they could penetrate the spears with their strenght. and so eventually the Dragon, who was spitting fire wherever it could, became pinned down. Spearmen charged up from behind, stabbing their spears as far as possible into the Dragon, The Shieldwall in the Front encircled the Dragon and slowly they started to stab the beast aswell. Archers grabbed their knives and charged in from the side. It was hard to keep the Dragon still and many died under the footsteps of the Dragon and under the intense fire it spit out. After a long battle of over half an hour the Dragon was exausted and heavly wounded. It seemed to have given up hope.
Dáin walked up to the beast, "May you live forever in the lands after this world" he said before raising his axe and smashing it down into the head.
The Dwarves gatherd the scales of the Dragon, wich where very strong and could be used to create a great and powerfull armor. They also took the skull of the Dragon on the request of Dáin. In the whole battle 157 Dwarves had found death. Leaving in the end only 500 survivors.
The following days they marched on, but Dáin lost his will, he still felt bad for the little dragons and their mother, it was wierd that dragons where the ones he would fell bad for... In the end Dáin desided to end the campaign, there was more then enough work at Erebor itself.

Erebor
Bifur and Bofur stood guard at the Tombs of Thorin, this is what they had done since Thorin passed away.
While everybody left on different quests and adventures, Bifur and Bofur grew restless, they wanted to join in but couldn't. After his shift, Bofur went to the military council and talked to the highest general about the matter. "Master Góli, me and Bifur where wondering if we could be send on an adventure, we see everybody leave on important quests, we hear the talks about a shortage of people willing to. We are willing, we have served the tomb of Thorin long enough now. We want to see the world again." he said.
Góli, the Lord of the army looked at Bofur, "fair enough, i may have something for you. Walk with me" he answerd as he walked into his chamber, "Gondor is in need of help, Orcs have been attacking the outer lands of Gondor for some time now. I need some good and smart dwarves out there, who can use the enemies moves gainst them. I am sure that you could do this. Bifur can go with you, the extra muscle can never hurt on the roads these days." he then said.
Bofur was glad, "Thank you, i will make sure we keep the Orcs at bay for as long as we can" he said before leaving.
The two grabbed their bags together and left the next day in the early morning, it was a long ride to Gondor, they where lucky that they had ponies with them. With a bit of luck, they would arrive before the end of the week.

---

Claiming the region north of Ered Mithrin

[Archegnum]

Rivendell

Elrond sighed as he filed away the last message, enjoying the brief moment of rest before his next job. All week, messengers and eagles had flocked to Imladris, bearing tidings of war and unease in Middle-earth. Unfortunately, with all these notices and parchments to sort through, the Elven-lord had had little time to meet with guests or even leave the House - although he had found just enough time to scribble a quick note with a gift to Imrahil.

But now, the papers were all sorted. Rising to his feet, he thrust the chair away behind him a strode quickly to the door, Vilya, Ring of Air, flashing sapphire in the sunlight. His attendants followed him along the passage until they reached the Council Chamber, wherein sat many ambassadors and heralds. Pushing the oaken doors open, he walked in and made a bee-line for his chair, where he knew he would be bombarded with questions and suggestions. First, however, he had a different subject in mind.

"My people," Elrond began loudly, "My people. We are assembled here today, in a most unsettled and dangerous time. There have, as I am sure many of you are aware, been tidings from the lands southward of war and unrest. It seems the Shadow in Mordor is stirring once more. Therefore, we must be prepared to resist what we can, or admit the ruin of us all."

"Therefore," he continued," I suggest we act immediately upon these messages. In particular, the requests for help from our allies in Lothlorien, who even now struggle against the forces of Dol Guldur. We must said aid, of the military kind, to them at once. With our combined might, we can hope to hold off the terror of Mordor in the south, and resist the sorceries of Angmar which I fear may rise again. We much march to Lorien!"

With that, a cacophony of noise and frenzied conversation shattered the quiet of Rivendell, as each member of the assembly fought to make themselves heard. But the chaos rose, and burst into a unanimous chorus of agreement. Elrond smiled, pleased. There was now hope for the Elves of Middle-earth.

Actions: War declared on Dol Guldur, Alliance and help offered to Lothlorien

[Liecthenbourg]

Dead Marshes
As a group of spearmen joined the main rank the group of Rohirrm now numbered 60, the horn of Mordor was drawing more than just the foe's attention, it became a beacon for the great horseless horselords to come to. The 90 archers were now bombarding the orcs with every arrow available Eomer spied a fiery arrow shoot into the air, a request for reinforcements that Eomer knew would come too late even if the battle went either way. Eomer realized he was pressed quite harshly by a knot of lesser orcs, Eomer sliced stabbed wildly and two fell before his onslaught, the others backing away as Eomer retreated to his lines and returned to the beauty that was three ranks of spearmen against a frontal assault, but then flanks were hit

A volley of arrows struck the orcs as they struck the left flank however it did little change, bodies flew and the orcs hacked and slashed at the men of Rohan, Eomer slew one orc and saw several others be slain however he could tell it was a losing battle. As Eomer hacked down a second orc with his sword he grabbed a pole-pale of water and had his men retreat a few steps as he threw the pole-pale on the floor in front of the orcs' path, this was all the excuse needed for the bog to rise in that area. Mud caked the orcs and they began slipping and falling over. Eomer yelled in Rohirric "Men of Rohan, rereat and throw your water on the bog!" The Rohirrm did so and the goblins' path soon began weighing down all but the lightest, some of the armoured ones would even sink to the point of not getting back out. The archers now fired with impunity and the infantry regrouped a score of yards back, Eomer could hope he bought ten minutes to plant in stakes and gather more men, he had now almost 80 infantry and 100 archers to use, the plan was that with 800 men in reach, he had to get them all to this concentrated point and beat the enemy back. Another Fiery arrow soared above them as a rallying call to all other rohirrm.

ROHAN
83 infantry
100 archers
17 Dead
2 Incapacitated
2 wounded but able to continue.

The Marsh Borderlands
The Snaga Orcs had retreated to a safe distance, now forming a sort of crescent out of the range of archer fire. This crescent was formed upon the path the battle was being fought on, with it stretching out onto both bogs to the flanks of the path. They stood here, recuperating their strength whilst keeping a watchful vigil upon the men of Rohan. Captain Grisnah spat out blood, twas not his though, for he had bitten into the arm of a Rohirrim soldier, as to show his soldiers what he said was literal.
The war horn of Mordor sounded once more, the long drawn out singled tune melody of death and destruction, alongside the mighty sounds of 1000 more Snaga Orcs, bows to their backs and itching for blood. At front of the group marched the banner bearer, waving the Black Flag detailed with the Red Eye of Sauron upon it. These archers now formed into their respective companies behind the Snaga line and off the force marched once more, 1000 arrows being launched once they were in range.

Behind the force, a few hundred metres away, watched Vazturan and the remainder of the Mordorian Force. Vazturan too, did have the same faith in Sauron for vision and he was currently in conversation with several Uruk Commanders.
"Rohirrim are vermin, insects" he chuckled heavily as "his" eyes narrowed behind his helmet and he licked his lips, his mouth forming into a fearsome smile. "And what better way to kill one, than a good crushing?"

Originally: 446
Dead: 23
Wounded: 14

Remainder: 409

Originally: 1000

The Mountains of Rhun
Durnazag reached into his rations bag, located upon the left of his mount. He pulled out a piece of veal, his teeth inking into it as his Warg trotted upon the path in the mountains slowly, it being tired from the rapid charge towards Rhun from the Black Gate. Now he watched as the bright Rhunish Sun shone brightly into the mountains, illuminating them and some precious minerals upon the surface. A mirage of colour and splendour, with diverse patterns being projected upon one mountain from another. Durnazag had never seen anything beautiful, but this was something he believed would indeed fit the category. He slapped himself mentally, for he shouldn't allowed to be distracted. He growled, pulling upon the reins of the Warg. Little did he know of where he was supposed to be going, but perhaps the Gong Shaman of Gongtown, his village, would know where their fellow Gongs resided.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Vale of Mist, Eastern Emyn Muil

In to the low rocky islet in the crags the convoy of Underfolk and Mahor's men marched; he was weary, but content. No bandits had accosted them on their journey, and the Rhun man had learned much on his journey. The Mewlips were few in number, but both stronger and more clean of limb and mind in comparison to their Orcish brethren. Their strange tongue he had slowly picked up on the journey south. It was sonorous and slow, like a great tree swaying in a mighty breeze, not like the harsh consonants of the Black Speech, though the two shared much of their linguistic lineage. In the nights he and the Moon-Speaker had laid before the campfire as it burned low, and she had spoken of days past, ancient times before his people had even been a people. Of fiery battle, fierce elves, and cold starlight she had spoken. Strange to him it seemed, to look down the passage of years in her eyes, and see times so long past. Almost as ghosts were the stories, full of dead people and silent faces that had once lived and breathed and fought and loved. He learned of the bloodthirst of the Elves, the arrogance of the first Men, and the great hosts of the lord Melkor, who was to the Underfolk their deity. Mahor knew that his father had worshiped Melkor before Sauron, but in his youth he had instead pursued homage to the Dark Lord; a man of action, obeisance to a Lost God did not appeal to him, but rather one he could hear and fight for. But as Celduy painted the armies in to being, the radiant gleam of fire on black steel, the endless banners, the greatest of Dragons and the red power of the Valaraukar that led the hosts of her lord... ah, then Mahor could feel his blood hot in his chest, and perhaps even thought he could worship such a lord who had created such splendor and martial prowess.

All these and more the man of the East treasured up in his heart, contemplating them, weighing them, as his silent companion rode forward with him. Behind them his men and the Underfolk exchanged jokes, telling tall tales as men and women were wont to do; such it was among the sons of Men, and so it was with the Underfolk, the kin of the Orcs, as well. On the back of each of the obsidian creatures were sacks carrying all they had owned, and here in this fertile vale a new life would they have. Eventually the Moon-Speaker called a halt, before a large cave. Mahor nodded to her, and he and some of his men explored it thoroughly. Seldom were such caves in the mountains, or even the crags such as here, unoccupied. But naught did he find, save some old steel armor rusting near some bones. Doubtless a troll or some other great beast had once lived here, but the reek could not even be smelled any more. It must have been dead and gone for a century or more, for the stench of any self-respecting troll to have dissipated.

In to the darkness the Mewlips marched, and as the last one of the denizens of the dungeons of Dol Guldur turned to wave goodbye, Celduy walked back out, bearing a parcel wrapped in rough silk. Where she got it, Mahor knew not, but she indicated he should loose the ties and open the package. He drew it open, and lo inside there gleamed a mail shirt, its rings glittering like the stars. Not mithril was this, but darkforged steel, the metal in antiquity of the weapons of the captains of Melkor. He bowed low, overawed by such a gift, and so on good terms the two parted.

After grazing their horses for a few days amidst the deep rainy vales of the Emyn Muil, Mahor set out south, towards the marches of Ithilien. The rumor of war was strong in the land, and many merchants had spoken of battles being fought there. Glory would the Rhun men have, at last.

[Elerian]

Imrahil waited patiently at the gates for the little Hobbit. When he did scurry back and made apologies Imrahil simply said it was no problem. As they set out on their new quest Imrahil thought about what would lie down in Gondor for them. After several minutes Imrahil's men materialized from the bushes and without a word began forming a column behind Imrahil. They were a somber bunch but should they get into a fight Imrahil wanted no others to fight beside him. Some of the men gave odd stares at the Hobbit but none dared to say anything of him. And so the quest had begun, to Gondor they went.

[Sil Arion]

Dale, Northwest Rhovanion

"Godric, my dear friend, to what other path should we walk? 'Ere the star shine brightly, we need not fear the dark."

"I know, mine king, but I do fear for the village-folk who dot the plains of Rhovanion. Though the Enemy moves not yet against us, Rhovanion is a prize He will not long ignore once his might is rebuilt." He rested his head against his palm, a rueful expression crossing his face briefly. "Abaddon, the ruler of Rhun, is a known Nazgul and sworn servant of Sauron. How long before the Easterlings march against us again? Our men are of great heart and noble spirit, but we are few in compare to hundreds of thousands. In the face of such numbers, how can we hold back such a tide of evil? Even with fine tactics and technologies at our disposal and knowing past victories, I lose my courage..." His head dipped, and his shoulders drooped. He was not alone. Eirengard and Evor, his own cousins by blood, Halvor and Henric. Eric too, and even old Torgeir and his brother-in-law Valdemar. Around him, in the Council Chamber, his fellows seemed to waver, and a dread silence held over them. Indeed, what they would not far face in war was great and terrible. But Brand would not have of it. So he stood and addressed his friends of old.

"My friends, to whom do we hold faith? Hm?" He looked around, seeing that the sudden question had startled them. And he looked each and every one of them in the eyes, deep and understanding. Alight again he would the fires of hope in their hearts. "Who was it in the days of old that watched over mortal Men and ever-living Elves with a watchful eye and helpful hand? Who was it that sent the Eagles to us at the Battle of the Five Armies, where our grandfathers fought and held heart against great evil? From whom was the northern wind sent to deliver out Black Arrows down upon the evil-host in the Battle at the Anduin not ten years ago, where we all battled together, brother beside brother in defense of our world?"

"To whom we hold our faith, and from whom is salvation given to the Faithful?" He raised his arms and looked up to the window to his back, set to look south. Suddenly, sunlight poured in, rich and warm and golden as the sky alit in a wonderful array of reds, orange and yellows. Expressions of fear and despairing heart turned into surprise, and their surprise became a single spark.

"Eru Illuvatar, the All-Father. He Who is Alone, he who created the world, but is not of it nor in it, but loves it so. He who created the Valar to be the guiding hand for his Children. Us." Who looked again at his friends of long and hard years, but also of many good times in between. And what he saw heartened him as well. So he smiled, a deep, warm, wisdom and hope sparkling in his eyes. "And does not a father look out for his children?"

"So lose not heart, my brothers. Eru Illuvatar will deliver us, long as we hold faith." He turned to look at the setting sun, and his voice gentled. "Even now, my own son and your brother Torvald, Torgeir, range north to the Withered Heath to assist King Dain, our greatest friend and ally as he battles dragons in an attempt to prevent Sauron from accessing greater force in the months to the come. Take heed to their example, and that of our forefathers. Do not forget, are we not of the blood of the Dragonslayer? The one and only, who is my grandfather, and your kin? Are we not whispered in Rhun as the Bane of the East now who rain the Black Arrows, and among the numerous Goblin tribes as the Bloodcloaks? Do not our enemies already fear our skill and spirit, and do not we stand stronger now than ever before? Are we not the beacon of hope in the North, the one light mortal men can look to here? Are we not also the first line of defense to for our greatest of friends, the Dwarves of Erebor? Do not friends protect their friends in dark times?"

"And dark times approach, my friends. You know this. But as Manwe once dictated, 'Is not the night darkest before the dawn?'? And I assure you the dawn is coming." His smile grew bright as backs straightened and shoulders squared away, hope and pride returning to desolate souls as sure grins crept across his friends' features as the last rays of sunlight left the chamber and the stars came to life. To be sure, they had a long fight ahead of them, but he wasn't so worried now, no longer himself so fearful of the cost to his people's heart. For now they were truly ready.

Let the Enemy come and bite the bitter-cold steel. For Dale.

[Valentir]

Forests of Rhudaur, Eriador
The creature spoke with an eerie voice, yet it was soothing, old, and full of wisdom. Sylvanas stared at the creature for a little while, pondering as to what it could be. It was obviously undead, for it had no flesh, no eyes, and no heart. It hovered humbly, patiently waiting for her to respond. It's tattered robes fluttered in the small breeze and it carried a small book in it's bony fingers. Sylvanas wanted to kill it, and take it's things, but that would be discourteous. Sylvanas bowed and spoke, "Greetings, um, thing. My group and I are marching to Cameth Brin to see an old friend. And what are you and your...companions doing on this fine day?" Sylvanas eyed the thing and waited for his response.

"Ah, Cameth Brin, a nice little hamlet, quiet and serene. I used to talk long walks in the evening towards Cameth Brin, but sadly those days of walking are in the past. Now let me introduce myself, I am Kel'Thuzad, the Lord Lich, and Baron of Rhudaur." Kel'Thuzad swirled around and bowed, taking his free bony hand and taking the elf's hand, and laying a small dry kiss on her delicate skin.

Sylvanas pried her hand from Kel'Thuzad. She stared at him, distaste in her eyes. "Well Kel'Thuzad, I am Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of the Elven Rangers. A lich you are? I have never seen a lich before. Your kind are very rare in Middle-Earth."

[The Overlord of Spree]

"Ah, Cameth Brin, a nice little hamlet, quiet and serene. I used to talk long walks in the evening towards Cameth Brin, but sadly those days of walking are in the past. Now let me introduce myself, I am Kel'Thuzad, the Lord Lich, and Baron of Rhudaur." Kel'Thuzad swirled around and bowed, taking his free bony hand and taking the elf's hand, and laying a small dry kiss on her delicate skin.

Sylvanas pried her hand from Kel'Thuzad. She stared at him, distaste in her eyes. "Well Kel'Thuzad, I am Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of the Elven Rangers. A lich you are? I have never seen a lich before. Your kind are very rare in Middle-Earth."

"That we are indeed. I know I am the only lich in the entirety of the North," Kel turned his head slightly, "Well, perhaps my little party could accompany you to Cameth Brin? We did have business elsewhere but that can...." Kel'Thuzad stopped talking. He looked North, into the forest. He quickly scanned the forest and shouted at his minions, "Ready your weapons, ORCS!" He quickly hovered over to his cart and retrieved his dark iron staff. "Ready yourselves Elf, orcs are near!" As he spoke growls and movement could be heard in the forest. Soon hundreds of orcs poured out of the underbrush and began to attack the two groups. Kel's cultists formed a square around the carts, axes and spears in hand, and began to cut and hack at any orcs who approached them. Kel charged into the orcs and began to hit them with his staff, knocking back many. "LET BATTLE BE JOINED!"

[Emilio Aguinaldo]

The small host of the Haradrim moved onward, taking camp on flat areas as to exploit their gigantic advantage in the form of a Mumakil in their ranks. They, again, started marching, but this time they went farther than they marched before in an attempt to beat the Gondoreans to the first citadel.

[Elerian]

~Lundain, Harondor~

Lundain looked down the shaft of his arrow, his target was several dozen meters ahead. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down his face as he concentrated on the shot. After what seemed an eternity Lundain loosed his arrow and with it the long but sturdy thread of rope. The arrow struck near enough to where Lundain had intended for it to make no matter, it seemed that none of the guards had heard or noticed the arrow so all was well. Lundain stole from his cover and ran across the dusty ground to a low wall that encompassed the rich man's house. While the rich man was a warlord he was a small fish compared to some of the other manses Lundain had passed in his travels. Even still it was much and more than Lundain had ever possessed in his short dismal life.

After waiting for sometime Lundain hopped the wall and waited and listened for any movement and hearing none jogged across the last remaining distance to the manse's high walls. Lundain tugged on the rope that stuck several meters up the wall over a window. It seemed sturdy enough so Lundain began to climb. It didn't take long for him to reach the windowsill and jump inside. The room was dark as pitch but Lundain knew his way. Walking for a few moments he waited and listened at the door for any movement. There was none.

Lundain opened the door a crack and looked out into a long hallway. Carefully Lundain crept out of the room and walked down the hallway to a set of stairways. He took the stairway up and when he reached the top almost bumped into a guard. Trying not to make a sound Lundain grabbed the guard and snapped his neck with a sickening crack. It may have alerted some nearby guards but it made no matter. Lundain jogged quickly to the end of the hall and came across the rich man's door. Without any regard for stealth Lundain flung the door wide open. Inside the rich man laid with his mistress in a large ornate bed. The man stirred slowly and taking his chance Lundain ran across the room to the rich man and drew his blade. The naked steel shone eeirily in the low light of the moon. When the rich man realized what was happening he motioned distainfully to a large chest nearby. Lundain strolled over to it and flung it wide open.

Inside were an assortment of old ornate objects. Lundain only wanted one. After a few seconds of searching he found what he was looking for, an extremely ornate dagger, It seemed priceless enough, though why his employer wanted it Lundain had not asked. Slipping it into his cloak Lundain ran out the door and back down the stairs behind him the rich man began shouting to his guards. At the level he had come in on Lundain spied some guards coming up the stairs. That meant his only option was to fight. With his blade in hand Lundain feigned an attack at the first man and slashed his leg when he went to block him. Lundain kicked the man down the stairs onto the other guards and jumped over the railing past them. Landing on his feet Lundain ran to the door he had entered through. He ran towards the window with the rope still hanging over the sill. Grabbing the rope Lundain quickly jumped out and half fell, half rappelled down the wall. Reaching the bottom Lundain dashed across the open ground to the low wall. Behind him Lundain heard only chaos, and after hopping the low wall Lundain heard the whistle of Harad archers loosing after him. Reaching the brush Lundain jumped on his horse and high tailed it out of there. It was time to pay in on his contract. Though the quest had seemed far to easy to have ended just there. It mattered not though, the deed was done.

[Great Empire of Gamilus]

The small host of the Haradrim moved onward, taking camp on flat areas as to exploit their gigantic advantage in the form of a Mumakil in their ranks. They, again, started marching, but this time they went farther than they marched before in an attempt to beat the Gondoreans to the first citadel.

OOC: there is a Citadel in the land? why did no one tell me!

IC: The Gondorian troops marched on, their goal the small citadel that lay in these lands. if they could reach it first the advantage of a Mumakil would be negated to almost a non factor. Which is what Captain Aruen hoped would happen, a single Mumakil could easily wipe out half of his attack force, spuring his horse on he lead the army onward.

[Liecthenbourg]

Gongtown, The Mountains of Rhun
The Wargs paws pressed deeply into the soft dirt at the end of the mountain passage leading to the hidden village of Gongtown - such a beautiful place it was, where the Sun would creep above the mountain tops as the roosters called, leaving an immense glaze upon the settlement that was equal to the beauty of Arda. Durnazag took no time to think, swinging his left leg over the Wargs back and dismounting the creature, proceeding to walk amongst the now stone pathway that lead to the huts and forgeries of the Gong peoples.
Durnazag walked towards his village, the nearby trees swaying from left to right slightly as the cool winds of the mountain pushed against the gracefully. The Gong Warrior continued his trekking, gazing upon the increase in forges in his village. Sauron's influence is clear and the Gongs shall rise again! was his thought as he eyed the buildings of industry, their mighty chimneys spewing forth black smoke into the air as would a mighty fire in the forests of Elves. Durnazag chuckled merrily, for the comparison his mind had matched was a great one indeed. He stopped dwelling upon such thoughts and approached a mighty hut, one of stone most precious and built upon the central mound, the Shaman Hut. Long had the Gongs been without the guidance of Morgoth and Sauron, long had they been from their protectors and Gods and so, experienced Gongs with knowledge had taken up the role of Shaman, handing down their knowledge to their apprentices - or so Durnazag been told. The Warrior of the Blade Black climbed the slope upon which led to the hut, watching as a fainter white smoke travelled out of its centre built chimney, clearly the Shaman was up to something.
Without much thought for common privacy or manners instanced in the realms of Man, Elf and Dwarf, Durnazag cast aside the chains dangling from atop the door frame and knelt before the Shaman.
"Mighty Shaman" he began. "I seek your guidance for my task"

[New Educandi]

Imrahil waited patiently at the gates for the little Hobbit. When he did scurry back and made apologies Imrahil simply said it was no problem. As they set out on their new quest Imrahil thought about what would lie down in Gondor for them. After several minutes Imrahil's men materialized from the bushes and without a word began forming a column behind Imrahil. They were a somber bunch but should they get into a fight Imrahil wanted no others to fight beside him. Some of the men gave odd stares at the Hobbit but none dared to say anything of him. And so the quest had begun, to Gondor they went.

As Boippi walked out of the gates with his new friend, he was about to start telling an other Hobbit story, when several men got out of the bushes and got into a line behenid Imrahil. Seeing this, Boippi was speechless. However, instead of getting into line, he instead said
"I have some small cakes for the journey; would anyone want them?" He then started passing out cakes, and then turned to Imrahil and said "would you want one?", but tossed it to him nonetheless.

[Of planets]

Marshlands
Eomer had his troops plant in the stakes in to the wet ground, making any frontal or flank assault costly. a group of around 190 archers had begun shelling the orcs and the 160 infantry were now arrayed into one defensive group, up in the front in a tight formation that was ready for any close quarters action. Eomer felt like things were beginning to come into control, he'd sacrificed sufficient supplies that they would only last five or so days, however that was not a great problem. Eomer had just short of four companies at his disposal with more men on the way. The day could yet be won.

When the arrows came, a good few were lost, however Eomer had the men quickly form a tortoise formation that halted any real effect the arrows had on the main group. The archers formed a loose formation to counteract the enemy archers as they fired on the hordes beyond. As another volley came in Eomer's shield felt a pound or two heavier, the next few hours were going to be hell but Eoer could hope that Mordor would run out of arrows before The might of Rohan began to wane. Eomer barked orders which he told the men were to be yelled as loud as possible, platoons were to form into groups of 50 or higher before they attacked any lost enemy formation that had become estranged from the enemy's van. Any weakness must be hit hard and then withdrawn from before the enemy can react, it was a tactic known as the bull's horns; the enemy could not turn away from Eomer's force yet to do so would stretch the flanks to breaking point. If the van moved to support the flanks than his own force could expose a resultant weakness and outflank the enemy.

ROHAN VAN
121 Infantry
153 archers
93 Dead (total)
4 Incapacitated

ROHIRRM ATTACKING MORDOR'S LEFT FLANK
80 archers
20 Infantry

ROHIRRM ATTACKING MORDOR'S RIGHT FLANK
40 Infantry
60 Archers

[Elerian]

The men took the cakes and said a quiet thank you to the Boippi. Imrahil turned and took the cake that was offered him, taking a bite the sweetness filled his mouth. The cake had a fruity filling inside and while the elves had decent enough food, it was fit for elves and not men. Imrahil looked down at Boippi and said "thank you for the food my little friend. The Elvish cooking i've had these past few weeks has been quite bland." Imrahil stooped down a little and continued "the men take some getting used to but once they know you more they'll become less like statues and more like real men." Imrahil straightened himself and continued walking.

[Mesrane]

Rivendell

Eurion grimaced, trying to ignore the raging hangover from last night's feast. The tranquil waterfalls and stark cliffs that surrounded the beautiful elven city did little to calm the pain. The warrior leaned over the balcony, plotting his return to Dale. Uggh. This is probably the third time I've been sober in two weeks at Rivendell. I've got to stop driiiiinking . . . ohh my head.

Hearing the heavy footsteps of a human, Eurion turned clumsily around. A cloaked and hooded figure, slightly lesser than Eurion in height, stood before him. The figure's hood was pulled low over his head, concealing his face. Eurion blinked. "Can I help you?" he asked.

The figure gave no reply, but rather flung back his hood to reveal a young, boyish face, capped by dark curls and bottomed by straggling whiskers. His eyes were a kindly brown. Eurion gave a start. "Malantur! Oh by the Valar it's good to see you!" The two friends clasped hands. Malantur soon replied; "Its been what, nine months? Ten? Not since we fought the Easterlings beyond the Sea of Rhun have I seen you!"

Eurion glanced at his friend. Malantur, a ranger of the Dunedain, hadn't aged a day since their adventures in Rhun. His beard may have lengthened somewhat, but that was to be expected. The two friends exchanged stories of their adventures over the past ten months. Eurion had patrolled the plains of southern Wilderland for much of the time, but had encountered no servants of the Eye. Malantur, meanwhile, had returned to Bree-land, the wooden hills about the village of Bree where he had been raised. Eurion envied him. The Dunedain might be lonely men, but at least many of them had homes and families to look forward too. Eurion was truly alone, deprived of both parents, and Dale had never been home to him, simply the place where he had been raised. Eurion's five years fighting for Erebor had molded him into the warrior he was now, but again, Erebor had simply been another place, with more unfamiliar faces.

As the two men exchanged stories of their adventures, a pair of heavy iron boots drew nearer to Eurion's right. Not the shoes of an elf, he thought. Eurion turned to face the newcomer, a blond bearded dwarf clad in a hauberk of chain-mail. A noble steel helm in the traditional Erebor style sat atop his head. A vicious battle axe was strapped to his back.

To Eurion's surprise, Malantur smiled as if the dwarf was an old friend. "Asmarr!" he cried. "Do come and meet an old friend of mine, from my days in Rhun. Eurion, meet Asmarr, Asmarr, Eurion." The two tentatively clasped hands. Asmarr coldly bowed to Eurion. "Asmarr son of Fengr, of the Iron Hills, at your service."

Eurion returned the gesture. "Eurion Alcator of Dale, at yours."

Asmarr visibly brightened at the mention of Dale. "Ah, a Daleman! I did not expect to find one here in Rivendell. But it is a pleasant surprise, nonetheless. Your people are doughty indeed. Much does Erebor owe your people." Asmarr frowned. "You must forgive me, but I did not catch your father's name."

Eurion's expression turned dark. "His identity is . . . yet to be determined."

"Ah." Asmarr quickly changed subjects. "Did Malantur tell you how he and I met?"

Eurion shook his head. "He did not."

Malantur chuckled. "It is quite the tale. But I am afraid it must wait for tomorrow, as the day wanes." He turned to Eurion. "You see my friend, Asmarr and I resolved a week before that we would attempt to enter Moria, as foolish as it may be, to attempt to garner news of Balin's expedition there some years ago. Disturbingly, the last anyone has heard of Balin or his men was before they entered Moria. Seeing has how no ranger has journeyed through the Misty Mountains in quite some time, I thought I might gather what information I could and report back to my superiors in Eriador in a few months time. Asmarr has always wished to see Moria, the home of his ancestors, additionally he would surely report back to Erebor. You're welcome to come along, if you wish. I'm sure you must be planning to return to Dale soon. This would simply be a roundabout way of getting there. What say you?"

Eurion shrugged. "I find little reason not to accompany you, Malantur. I have always dreamed of seeing the wonders of Moria. I shall come."

Malantur grinned. "Excellent! We can discuss the details over dinner tonight, and tomorrow as well. I expect we shall leave the day after that. Perhaps the elves shall aid us. They have many maps and helpful tidbits of information that have long been forgotten by others."

The three companions, two men and a dwarf, strode off towards Elrond's hall for dinner.

[Palonitr and Howland]

Mirkwood, Old Forest Road, Near the Western End Of Mountains Of Mirkwood
After much stumbling around in the darkness of Mirkwood. Durindon and his men had finally reached the Old Forest Road. Though they were still deep in the heart of Mirkwood, nwar the mountains of Mirkwood as well. A dark place where giant spiders and goblins dwelled. Durin was suprised that they had not encountered the giant spiders at all though they have slaughtered several Goblin Warbands. They were singing songs of old and were merrily marching until they saw the back of a small brown creature about the same height as a goblin. They raised their weapons as it turned around. As it turned around, they all sweated, not ever hearing of such type of goblin made them nervous. They would not know how to fight it. It turned around and then showed a face lf of a bearded old man who had a crazed look in his eye. They all were relieved and sighed, Durin then realised whom this man was. "Radagast the Brown? Is that you, you old coot?" Radagast answered back, "Why yes,yes I am. Whom maybe be asking? WAIT..... I know you, just give me a second and I'll remember....... DURINDON BLACKHEART! Yes my dear dwarf, it is you. May I inquire so as to whyyou are in this miserable forest of darkness?" Durin sighed at the little wizard who was insultinghis own home, "Come Radagast, walk with us," They returned to marching towards out of the forest, "So Radagast, I have formed a company to go to Moria. We plan to find Balin and assist him. How goes that old coot Gandalf. Where is his Grey ass gone to and made a mess of this time?" Radagast answered back, "Last I heard from Gandalf, he was in Rivendell. That was a season ago and cannot say if it true now. Moria, you say? It has been for the longest time since I saw Balin myself." They chattered as they walked through the road and into the darkness of Mirkwood.